


Solo's Copilot

by MissAdlock



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Original Trilogy, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: And we LOVE that for him, Ben Solo Needs A Hug, Ben Solo is a cocky bastard, Ben Solo is not a virgin, Cantinas, Choking, Crying During Sex, Drinking, Drug Use, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Humor, Fluff and Smut, Have some..., Inappropriate Use of Lightsabers, Inappropriate Use of the Force, Loss of Virginity, Love Confessions, Oral Sex, Reader is afraid of flying, Recreational Drug Use, Redeemed Ben Solo, Rough Sex, Sloppy Makeouts, Smuggling, Smut, Space Drugs, The Millenium Falcon - Freeform, Vaginal Sex, Virgin Reader, apparently a lot of pent up emotions, because ben is a crybaby, ben is a mess of a smuggler, ben is a scary pilot, ben solo gets the falcon, fluffy sex, in the millenium falcon, makin' love baby, poe and ben are bffs now, probably too many cantinas, roadhead, space drag racing, space drinking
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-30
Updated: 2020-09-03
Packaged: 2021-03-07 00:55:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,329
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26188330
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissAdlock/pseuds/MissAdlock
Summary: Ben Solo is a smuggler. You're a weapon's expert for the Resistance who hates flying but loves cocky bastards.Against your better judgement, you accept Ben's invitation to be his copilot as he smuggles dangerous cargo around the galaxy - cargo that includes Hutt merchandise.
Relationships: Ben Solo & Reader, Ben Solo/Reader, Ben Solo/You, Kylo Ren & Reader, Kylo Ren & You, Kylo Ren/Reader, Kylo Ren/You
Comments: 3
Kudos: 36





	1. Lightspeed

_This is a bad idea. This is a bad idea. This is a bad idea._

You'd punish yourself for agreeing to this later. You hated flying. Space travel was simply not meant for human beings - this you were convinced of. Your feet belonged planted into the ground. Space was no place for someone like you. It was cold, desolate, and _terrifying_. You avoided it whenever you could, even if that meant attending meetings through holograms. Sure, it put a damper on your work, but at least you wouldn't risk choking to death.

Ben liked to fly. A lot. And you liked Ben. _A lot._

"Do you think it's ready?"

Poe Dameron, general of the Resistance, could never say 'no' to a challenge even if it meant breaking protocol. Late last night, just before the cycle began again, Ben had gotten finished with putting the finishing touches on Poe's beloved X-wing. Somehow, _some way_ , he'd managed to create something no one had ever succeeded to do before. He'd attempted to explain the process to you, but you were an expert on handheld weapons - not starfighters. Nonetheless, you tried to follow his commentary, even if it sounded like he was speaking a different language.

"I'll bet you ten credits it is," Ben says proudly. "Chewie wouldn't let me use the Falcon as a test rat if it weren't."

The giant and hairy Wookie roars from the weapon's crate he's leaning against. You can't speak Wookie, but he doesn't sound as convinced as Ben had let on. Chewbacca gurgles something in his native tongue - it seems like he's reasoning with Ben - and then huffs through his nose when he's ignored.

Poe shifts in his stance dubiously, arms crossed against his chest, and teeth gnawing at the inside of his cheek. You really didn't blame Poe for being skeptical. Ben was a great mechanic, but his "experiment" was reaching. If successful, however, he might have discovered a new way to train pilots. Personally, you hoped it worked; the news of beginners crashing to their fiery deaths was becoming all too frequent.

The general understood the severity of this test. He shook his head, defying his better judgement. "Alright. Fine. But I wanna make it more interesting."

Ben raised an eyebrow, long fingers reaching for his jacket he'd draped across the crate next to Chewie. "Like...?"

Poe smirks a little. "A bet. We race from here and back again within ten parsecs."

Even Ben is taken aback. Chewie voices a forceful concern from behind, raising his arms in the air. But after a moment of deliberation, he shrugs with nonchalance.

"Alright. Bet," he says, reaching out to shake Poe's hand. They do, their grips tight around one another. You know Ben is showing off the strength Poe doesn't have by the way the general flinches when they pull away.

Ben turns his chin to you. "Come on, Petals."

 _Petals_. The name gives you a warm, tightening feeling in your belly, sort of like if you'd just drank a shit ton of wine. You follow, grabbing the hand he's offered to you, and resist the urge to lean against him. But your eyes widen in shock when he lifts your intertwined hands and kisses the back of your palm with closed eyes.

"What was that for?" you ask with a smile, blush creeping into your cheeks. So embarrassing.

He smirks a grin that could melt ice. "Does there have to be a reason?"

You blink away the lewd thoughts creeping into the shore of your conscious. The thought of him raising that same fist above your head and pinning you to the mattress, warm and plush lips sliding their way down your body as you moan his name in a whiny, almost pornographic, whimper...

 _That hadn't happened yet_ , you reminded yourself.

The two of you step inside the Falcon and he releases your hand. You almost whine at his separation, your palm growing cold without his warmth, but you keep quiet. It was still too early to pout like a touch-starved girlfriend. Even though you _were_ touch-starved. _Too_ touch-starved for your own liking. And he was right _there_ ; the man who wetted your dreams was right there and you hadn't even seen him naked yet.

Disappointment clouds your vision, but you walk to the cockpit anyway.

Nimble and long fingers dance around the controls you couldn't name if your life depended on it, and the Falcon roars to life. A button on the wall flickers and spits out a choking _beep,_ but when Ben slams his fist against it, it stops. It was almost as if everything he does once seated in the chair is an instinct, like he was possessed by some all-knowing entity.

And while you had confidence in Ben, the fear of flying did not dissipate, even if drowning in a sea of lust. You raise your knees to your chest, the chair being so large that you had more than enough room to fold yourself in it, and begin to chew on your fingernails.

Ben looks over at you. "You don't trust me?"

But he's smiling. It's one of those cocksure smiles that feels objectifying, but still knots your stomach anyway. Maybe that's _why_ it knots your stomach.

You nod your head. "I do," but it's shaky.

Ben hums in disagreement. "Then why do you look like you're headed to your execution?"

He was probably right. You couldn't see yourself, so maybe you did look a little too wound up from another perspective. Still, it was unavoidable.

"You know I hate flying," you say softly. "I belong on the ground."

Ben gazes at you for a moment, eyes twinkling with something you'd never seen in him before, and then leans over to whisper in your ear. "Petals, you belong among the stars..." his hot breath tingles your spine and you shiver as he buckles you in.

 _Fuck._ The cockpit spins, air heated with desire. Your fingers curl into the meat of your palms and this time it's not from fear.

A switch is flipped and Poe's voice filters through the speaker - it jolts you back to reality. Suddenly, Ben isn't the only being in the entirety of the galaxy. " _Solo, are we gonna go or what_?" he complains.

Ben leans into the mic. "Yeah, ready to go."

The falcon lifts into the air and you flinch, eyes squeezing shut, and muscles turning to stone. _This can't be happening._ How stupid could you possibly _be_? You hadn't flown in years. It doesn't help when your ears pop as you reach the stratosphere, and then finally to the mesosphere where the base below turns virtually microscopic. Ben pulls a lever, which you can only assume is the thruster, and the ship lurches towards the blackness of space. Within two minutes, you're off the planet completely, but your nerves have somewhat calmed almost unnaturally. You allow yourself to open an eye and peer out the window, but gasp at the bleakness, and hide your face into your knees again.

"I think you underestimate how good I am at this," Ben chides, but it's playful somehow. "I'm not gonna let anything happen to you."

You peek at him through your lashes. "Promise?"

Something in Ben softens like marmalade. Maybe it was the pathetic way you squeaked, or the way your cheeks burned in humiliation, but he found something endearing enough to crane his neck over and kiss you gently on the lips. It's soft, warm, and it leaves you wishing it were more as he pulls away with one last peck to your temple.

"Promise," he mumbles in your hair.

Another forbidden image flickers through your head: Ben whispering gently in your ear as he rocks into you with tantalizingly slow thrusts, but deep enough to cause you to sob desperately beneath him.

 _Shit. Shut the fuck up_ , you berate internally while attempting to rebuke the scenario.

The speaker filters Poe's voice again. " _Ready when you are_."

"You trust me?" Ben says then, holding your gaze with his own.

 _You did._ "Yeah."

He nods and faces the viewport while gripping the thruster and then says, "Hang on tight."

You knew the Falcon was fast. You'd been told of its legendary speed and noticed how people gawked like it was a living, breathing thing itself. People were enamored with the "hunk of junk" (as others so famously called it) and you'd never understood why. People liked the rush. People liked the stories. People liked the _power_. You'd felt this with weapons before; a few guns had really excited you over the years, but it was never on the scale of which the Falcon did for others. The Falcon was a war machine, riddled with battle scars from the Empire and the First Order. It was somewhat of a deity.

But to experience it was another thing.

You're jostled into the depths of space, body stumbling forward, but the restriction of the seat belt saving you from plummeting to the floor. Ben was enjoying this immensely, his face bright with exhilaration and fingers bracing for anything.

"Alright, you gonna hit me or what, Dameron?" Ben shouts to the speaker.

There's no reply from the other end and all is silent before there's a sudden...

_Bang!_

You shriek, desperately clinging to the arms of the chair, and peer out the viewport for any sign of Poe's X-wing. You hadn't even noticed how flawlessly Ben's ingenuity had proved until the general glides beside the Falcon with a thumbs up and a goofy smile. It'd worked. The stun blasters had succeeded on a ship for the first time in history. The controls of the Falcon have frozen, lights blinking erratically, but reported no damage to the hull. Within a few seconds, all the switches on the dashboard sputter back to life.

Ben lets out a joyful holler and presses the intercom again. "Fan-fuckin'-tastic! It worked!"

Poe laughs along with him. "Great job, Solo. You've just saved a lot of lives."

"Happy to be of service," Ben replies, still clutching the thruster. He turns to you and finds you've relaxed, legs now dangling off the edge of your chair. "How about that race now, Dameron?"

You gulp. _Oh shit._ You'd forgotten about that.

There's no warning before Ben jumps to lightspeed.

You may have not done much flying, but you knew this wasn't how lightspeed worked. At least, not when human decency was involved. Worlds whizzed past the viewport within seconds, the stars of the galaxy stretching into view in-between them. You scream, grasping onto whatever you could find, and wait for death. Ben's skipped to at least ten planets by now and it hadn't even been a couple of minutes. 

_You_ don't even think it's ever gone this fast before.

Ben chuckles a hearty laugh, something like a maniacal teenager would muster up, while skipping through the infinity of space-time. Landscapes of all imagination and color had dissolved in front of you, but when a water planet with a massive wall of a wave appeared before you, there was nothing that could stop you from screaming Ben's name in sheer terror.

But, of course, Ben had everything under control. Like breathing, his hands reached for the proper controls, and the Falcon managed to evade the mountain of ice water.

" _BEN_!" you yell, resisting the urge to slap him even when in lightspeed. Your hands tremble and you prepare for the next jump, praying to the Gods or the Force or whatever it was that controlled your fate, to arrive back home in one piece.

The Falcon rolls on its side, thrusting into another planet once more, until finally - _finally_ \- Ajan Kloss sweeps into view.

Ben looks more than satisfied. In fact, he looks like a lotha cat who got the cream. The smugness on his face is apparent, smirk lopsided while looking steady as ever. He folds his hands behind his head and leans back against the chair as you catch your breath, heart thumping randomly in your chest.

"It's never gone that fast before. I just beat my father's run. I can't bel...-"

Before he can even finish, you've pounced on him, desire coursing through your veins. The rush of adrenaline from a near death experience pools arousal between your legs while you swing them on each side of him. _Gods_ , this man was going to kill you one day, _and fuck all, if you'd let him_. His calloused hands roam up your sides and then down to your ass to scoot you closer.

Your fingers weave through his thick locks, pulling him deeper into the kiss, and when you parted your lips, his hot tongue slid against yours. It took everything - _everything_ \- in you to not tear off your shirt in that moment. And you would've, had Poe not interrupted so rudely. 

" _You son of a bitch. I can't believe you pulled that off_!"

You growl at the intrusion, refusing to let Ben go. He smiles against your mouth, hands still cupping the meat of your ass with both hands; hands big enough to almost palm it completely. "You owe me ten credits!" Ben chuckles. You kiss against his neck with a hunger that felt foreign, still so heated from moments before. If Poe found you straddling Ben like this, so fuckin' be it.

Sure enough, Poe arrives next to the window and peers in. When he finds Ben meeting your open mouthed kisses, he groans in disgust.

" _Get a room, you two. I'm going back to base_."

Ben doesn't separate his lips from yours as he raises a hand in Poe's direction. He hums, " _Mmm hmm_..." against you as a reply. You allow a giggle that you'd been suppressing bubble from your mouth; Ben swallows it.

"I don't think you're afraid of flying anymore," he mumbles against you, eyes half-lidded, and then squeezes one of your ass cheeks roughly; you let out a yelp. "I think it turns you on."

You shake your head against him, pressing your knees upon the chair to raise yourself over him. More leverage. You needed more _leverage_. "No. _You_ turn me on. How the _fuck_ can you fly like that?"

"You've got a dirty mouth, don't you?" he teases, tongue entering your mouth once more. Gods, how you wished that tongue were in your pussy instead.

You hum against him as he'd done to you. "Just for you."

He laughs and pulls away from you, though by the way he hesitates you know he doesn't want to. You'd have to get home somehow, you suppose. Still, _you_ weren't flying. Might as well continue indulging in something that doesn't happen very often. The excitement of being caught in an embrace, of being catapulted from one world to another at a dangerous speed...it _was_ a rush.

Ben suppresses a deep laugh - _how could he make a laugh sound sexy?_ \- and starts up the falcon again.


	2. As All Women Should

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "He smirks, but behind it there's something you can't quite put your finger on. It's wicked, but tempting. Licentious, but adoring. It makes you blush, especially by the way he so openly touches your face with such softness. You never expected Ben to be so unstirred by potential reactions from others. Who knew Ben was so into public displays of affection? 
> 
> Then you realize...it's because he's starved. Starved of affection himself. Of adoration. Of touch. He'd been Kylo Ren for years, dwelling in solitude with no one to hold him, no one to make love to, no one to cry for. You realize then that he craved closeness and he wanted it with you."

Tasha's nails clink impatiently against her glass of mither. She's been itching to say it for the past hour - you know she has. 

"So..." she begins ominously. You prepare for her greatest performance. What were best friends for? "Big night for Ben, huh?"

The two of you stand at the bar of The Water Hole, a local cantina, and watch as Ben (along with some other Resistance fighters) aggressively chug their ales. He looks wild and, truthfully, on his way to being fried. You can't help but laugh when he spills on himself, brow arching in confusion, and then grumbling when he sees the mess he's made. He pretends like no one saw, but you did; you always see him. The way that particular strand of his hair dangles over his forehead had you biting your lip as he laughed, completely unaware of how fucking _hot_ he was. Sometimes you hated him for that.

You turn to Tasha, pretending not to catch onto what she's implying, but she's grinning wickedly at you. 

"Yep," you say half-heartedly, continuing to observe the room. 

It's dim, but bright enough so that you're able to distinguish faces from one another. Lance, a blonde man with an unfortunate amount of sweat stains, converses animatedly with Ben. Then there's Bella, a witty and stunningly beautiful woman with emerald hair who cozies up with her boyfriend. You didn't recognize all the faces here. Some of them were bounty hunters or smugglers passing through, but the ones you did know where notorious party animals. You had a feeling you'd be nursing a hangover in the morning. 

Tasha swirls her drink with a slender finger. "Could be a big night for you, too." 

Bingo. Took her long enough. 

Still, you pretend it takes you off guard, and pretend to choke on your drink. "What?"

Your friend rolls her eyes. She means well, just as she always has, ever since the two of you were toddlers. Growing up with her should've made more of a rebellious impact on you but it didn't. Not to say you didn't enjoy drinking and being with friends - you did, just not every night like Tasha. And that was fine; she was _good_ at it. Sometimes you wished you were as talented as socializing as she was; you might be predisposed to make the kind of money she did. Tasha, in addition to being a Resistance fighter, was also the center of many wealthy men and women's lives.

"Ah, don't play coy." She slaps you in jest, but her strength causes a sting. 

You stick out your tongue like a child eating something sour. "Boys have cooties," you joke. You know very well Ben did _not_ have cooties.

Tasha rolls her eyes and smirks, holding the straw to her mouth before continuing. "Even a blushing virgin knows what success does to a man." She takes a long sip while wiggling her eyebrows suggestively. "It builds their ego..."

She takes a look at Ben from across the room. You do too. And despite how much Tasha adores you - how willing she would be to step in front of a blaster for you - she can't help but drink in the sight of the scoundrel who so handsomely laughs with friends. He's warm. He's kind.

He is absolutely perfect in every way. You don't blame her for the lust. 

"Though, I don't think he needs much help with that." Her eyes fall lower and she does obviously enough so that you see where she's looking. 

Tasha tears her eyes from Ben's - unquestionably - well endowed bulge. "You sure you can handle that?" she asks you with a wink. 

You weren't the jealous type. Really. But everyone made their desire for him so _loud_ ; it was hard not to be jealous in some way or another. All the women (and men) on base who were gorgeous, intelligent, and very single were surely competent enough to take him from you. 

But he hadn't left. Not in the five months you've been seeing one another; it's what kept you from clawing peoples' eyes out.

"You're insatiable," you tell her. "Now you want him too?"

Tasha gives you an incredulous and pointed look. "You know I love you...but you also know that everyone on base wants him." She scoffs. "Don't pretend like you don't know that. You're _so_ goddamned lucky."

You take a quiet slurp of your drink, eyes locked onto the way he concentrates to what Lance is saying. His eyebrows furrow and he nods, sucking the inside of his cheek and it makes his jawline more prominent. You feel a heat bloom in your body and know how lucky you are. For fuck's sake, you _still_ can't believe it.

"He could be bad at it," you say then, though you know the idea is ridiculous.

Tasha shakes her head and light bounces off her pretty, blonde pin curls. "I wouldn't count on it. He has a reputation...just like his dad..." she says dreamily, as though she knew Han Solo personally. 

There's a silence between the two of you before she says, "Are you prepared?" like she already knows the answer. 

You shrug. "Can you ever be prepared for something like this?"

Tasha looks at you like you're not serious. Maybe she was expecting another answer. 

"For sex?" Yes," she says simply. "God, you're the mature one, too."

"I have an implant if that's what you're wondering." You lift up your forearm to the light and see the outline of a very small, very faint chip embedded beneath your skin. It wasn't required in the Resistance - not anymore. But once you and Ben started dating, the idea of an accident seemed more plausible than what you'd like to imagine.

She looks thoughtfully at a space above your head. "Okay, yes, that's very important. But have you _shaved_?"

There's a pang of fear that lights up your abdomen. _Shit_. "I didn't exactly plan on this happening tonight!" you argue under your breath. 

She doesn't take a breath. "What are you wearing?" _Damn woman, cut me some slack,_ you think.

You blink a few times, trying to process her question, and crinkle your nose when you come up short. "Is that a trick question?" 

Your dear friend looks exasperated and maybe even a little disappointed. After all these years of confiding in you about her various sexual endeavors, you _surely_ could've picked up on the basics. Weren't you listening when she told you about the crotch-less underwear she wore for Mike in transmissions? Did you forget about the time she showered before a hook-up, swiped a finger in her vagina, and held it to your nose before asking, " _Be honest...do I smell_?" (No. You hadn't forgotten that - as much as you wanted to - but for the record: she didn't.)

"You don't have any lingerie?" she asks, dumbfounded.

"Why would I have lingerie?" you whisper heatedly and a little too quickly. 

A man with a false eye turns his neck to glance at you, perplexed by the dialogue, but intrigued nonetheless. You glare at him and scoot farther away. 

"Maybe because you're in a relationship with possibly the sexiest man in the galaxy, that's why!" she responds, throwing her free hand in the air for dramatics - she was always very good at that.

Tasha rubs her right temple as you cross your arms in defense, waiting for her to say something else. And then she does. An idea pops into her head, a lightbulb practically manifesting to gleam over her. 

"T-shirt," she decides. 

"Huh?"

"Holy fuck, are you this naive?" she asks, but she's hiding laughter. "Men go nuts when we do that. They like knowing we're smaller than them..." she cocks an eyebrow in amusement. "Though, that's never really been the case for me." 

Tasha is _tall_. Six feet and two inches tall. You try to imagine her drowning in a man's shirt but couldn't possibly conjure up someone big enough to give her something to disappear in. Chewbacca, maybe. 

You try to shake the thought away, to imagine one of Ben's plain tees hanging just below your shaking knees. How you could possibly work with that solely because you knew how much bigger he was than you. Throw on a little lip gloss, maybe. Mascara? Blush? No. No blush; he'll be getting you red enough.

 _Oh_. The thought makes you clench. 

But what if he preferred a woman who was natural? You wore makeup in front of him when he took you on your first date, honestly just for an excuse to dress in something other than your uniform. But because of the way his pupils expanded when he saw you, you decided to dress up more often. Did it matter? If he was worth it, he'd like you any way. And you knew Ben was worth it. Still, all these questions and all these rules for sex were overwhelming for someone who hadn't even given a blow-job. You take another drink of your liquid courage as your head spins with possibilities. They were endless. 

Tasha watches with an enigmatic smile as you fix your hair to frame it the way Ben likes. "Okay," you say, but you're really only talking to yourself. "I'm going in."

* * *

A wide smile forms on Ben's face when you arrive at the table.

You're shaking, but doing your best to hide it, hoping that the façade of alcohol might camouflage your trembling fingers. Ben reaches his arms out to you and you accept his invitation to sit snuggly on his lap. You fit in it perfectly, especially when your head leans back against the curvature of his shoulder. He caresses your arm and you notice how his fingers trace over the indentation of your birth control. For some reason, that triggers a primal instinct, and you press your face into his neck.

"Did you get anything to drink?" Ben asks, lifting your chin with his index finger. 

You nod, eyes sparkling when they meet his. You can feel the nervousness slowly dissolve in your body, but it could be because of the alcohol inoculating through your veins. "I did, thank you."

"Why didn't you let me pay for it? I would've." He kisses your cheek softly and then the other. "How many have you had?"

You shrug. "Just one." You lean into his touch, relishing in the electricity that burns your insides. It feels so _good_. "Nothing I can't handle."

He smirks, but behind it there's something you can't quite put your finger on. It's wicked, but tempting. Licentious, but adoring. It makes you blush, especially by the way he so openly touches your face with such softness. You never expected Ben to be so unstirred by potential reactions from others. Who knew Ben was so into public displays of affection? 

Then you realize...it's because he's starved. Starved of affection himself. Of adoration. Of touch. He'd been Kylo Ren for years, dwelling in solitude with no one to hold him, no one to make love to, no one to cry for. You realize then that he craved closeness and he wanted it with you.

 _For fuck's sake,_ it's bringing _tears_ to your eyes. You try to stop them by burying your face in his collarbone again but it doesn't work. His beating heart, his breathing, his warmth makes you even more emotional. You want to wrap yourself around him until the two of you become one - until you can pass on whatever it was that he needed from your own spirit. Whatever he needed, he'd get from you.

Gods...did you...did you _love_ him?

No. _No, it's too early,_ you tell yourself. You can't love him. It could end just as easily as it began, even if he did love you back. Something would eventually happen - he could die, you could die, the spark could burn out after the honeymoon phase ended. This is what you've convinced yourself, not only with Ben, but with other men too. And they always did end up leaving, even if you begged them to stay.

"You okay, baby?" he mumbles in your hair.

His voice brings you back to life. He'd never called you baby before. You're surprised to find how much you like it. 

You lift your head and watch as his irises seem to turn another shade of mahogany. "Yep," you smile, running your fingers through his hair. You begin to slowly run your fingers across his scalp as though to mend a wound that wasn't there. Not in the bone, anyway. His conscious; you'd try to mend his psyche, and maybe it was an unintentional move from your own subconscious. But you allowed it.

Ben hums from your gentle touch, forgetting about the drink in his hand. He sets it down and leans back against the booth, eyes shut, and smiling as you play with his locks, twirling them around your fingers. You admire the way it shines in the dim lighting - he took care of himself well. That means he could take care of you, too. The idea makes you shiver in his arms.

The group of friends talk with one another in loud, jubilant conversation. When Ben doesn't say anything after some time, Lance pipes up. 

"How you doin' over there, Solo?" He's chuckling by the way Ben's loosened his limps while savoring your embrace.

It must be a sight to see. Ben's almost slumped over in his seat with only a couple of drinks in his system as a girl half his size twiddles with his hair. _Solo_ didn't relax much - he was always on the move, so to see him in this state was probably more reliving than humorous. 

Ben just lifts a hand, eyes still closed, enjoying your fingers as they dance around his face. You count the small moles on his skin under your breath and trace the slope of his nose. _Eck_. What had you _become_? PDA hadn't ever tickled your fancy before, so why are you all of a sudden so fuckin' cringeworthy? 

Then you realize you didn't care. Ben Solo was practically purring against you as you squirmed in his lap. And you knew by the way he snaps open his eyes, some kind of fire raging behind them, and grabs ahold of your hips:

That he.

Was going.

To fuckin'.

 _Wreck_ you.

You'd let him. And he knows that too by the way you squeal when he picks you up and throws you over his shoulder. He gives you a light swat on your butt as he stands and you burst into laughter, not giving a single shit about who thinks what anymore.

"Alright, Petals. I think it's time to go now," he announces and bobs you back into place against him.

Lance lets out a whistle that implies what everyone was thinking. "Have fun, you two!" he shouts from across the cantina.

And as you hoot with laughter - the kind of laughter you know is genuine - you spot Tasha at the bar. She holds up her drink and nods her head as though to say:

" _As all women should_."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi friends! it's me - mikaela - your local ben simp. i should be working on my screenplay, but i can't get this story out of my head. i actually had a lot of fun writing this chapter! 
> 
> the thing that tasha did to reader - you know the one. the vagina thing? yeah. i actually had a friend do this to me irl.
> 
> follow my tumblr if you want! i'd appreciate it. i love mail, too: mallowmikaela.tumblr.com
> 
> see you next chapter! toodles!


	3. Velvet Things

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "For when the time is right."
> 
> \----
> 
> "There are no bras in space." -George Lucas
> 
> I beg to differ.

"Ben Solo, don't you _dare_ drop me!" 

You try to sound as assertive as you could, but it was nearly impossible with the cackling erupting from you. It was the flirtatious kind of laughter - the giggles that only a partner could conjure from their lover. You squealed playfully and protested weakly by thumping your measly fists against his back. Once or twice he's had to settle you into place, grabbing ahold of your hips, and tugging you forward from eating dirt.

He's been walking leisurely back to base while tottering you over his shoulder, snickering also coming from him in a throaty way. "I'm not gonna drop you!" he returns and swats your ass for the third time. It evokes a yelp and a heated blush. He _knows_ it, too.

"You don't know that!" you simper. "How many drinks have you had?"

Ben scoffs. "You do realize I have reflexes better than anyone you know, right?" he pauses, pleased with himself. And while you can't see his expression (from facing the ground, which very unfortunately obstructs your view), you can tell he's smirking. His voice becomes more lazy when he does and an octave lower; it's his ace-in-the-hand, but you'd never tell him that. "And besides, I'm gonna need you to be in your best condition tonight."

This elicits an instinctual whimper.

" _Oh ho oh_ ," Ben teases. "What was that?"

You pout, coquettishly of course, and wriggle in his arms. "You're making me blush."

"I intend to," he hums.

The hangar of the base is pitch-black, the only light illuminating from it from the hallway leading to the quarters. Everyone on base slept in a dormitory which was a little too crowded and, thus, woke everyone up from the slightest bit of noise. Maybe this wasn't the most ideal place to have sex - maybe this is _why_ they made it so congested. Sex wasn't against regulation, but pregnancy got you kicked out of the Resistance and the majority didn't want to risk it. Not to say they didn't wander into the woods, disappear for a few hours, and then come back with flushed face.

Ben must've been thinking the same thing. "Should we go to the Falcon? Is that okay with you?" he pauses. "I mean, it being your first time and all..."

You try your best to swing forward to face him, but after a few attempts you give up with a sigh. He tries to contain his laughter while swinging you around and then lifting you against his chest. His forehead presses to yours and he kisses you slowly, deeply. It takes a lot for you to pull back and answer him. 

"I just want you," you whisper against him.

You swear you feel his breath catch before he presses a kiss to the tip of your nose. "That's what I wanted to hear," he mumbles, voice thick and skin burning beneath you. His hands grip your thighs more firmly, surely pressing his fingers into the fat so roughly that you'd bruise. _Good_.

You smile against his mouth. "I need to use the shower really quick."

He nods. "Of course," he breathes, heart accelerating in his chest. A wicked part of you hoped he was picturing you naked, skin wet, and flushed from heat.

" _Don't take too long_."

* * *

" _Holy shit, holy shit, holy shit_."

As soon as you'd entered your dorm, you've stripped of your clothing and abandoned them on the floor while sprinting to the refresher. _No_ time to waste. If you took too long you feared he'd loose interest and save it for a rainy day. Time was of the essence and that time was ticking away so loudly that you swore you could hear it. If you cracked open your head while sliding across the tile, so be it.

The shower was hot and it melted all the grime and grease you've accumulated throughout the day. You tried to focus on cleaning every crevice of your body. Every nook, every cranny - even the spots that were pretty much impossible to reach. You prayed that the sweet fragrance of the gel might cover any kind of hidden body odor you might not notice. You'd even used the gel strictly used for vaginal purposes, despite how many times you convinced yourself it was bad for you. And maybe it was, but the idea that you could _smell_ there was almost unbearable.

The razor was taunting you as it lay on the shelf. Maybe Tasha was right - maybe you should shave. You weren't a stranger to the process, but it was a pain in the ass to deal with. You'd always gotten some sort of rash or bumps that made the entire ordeal simply fruitless so you vowed to stay away from it by whatever means. But you had this urge - this _desire_ \- to impress Ben that you were willing to go through the painfully detailed process.

Maybe Tasha had a way of avoiding razor burn. So you did the only thing you could think of.

Once stepped outside of the shower, you search for Tasha's contact on the commlink with fumbling hands. It takes a moment to connect and each beep sends a jolt of fear in your abdomen; what if she didn't answer? Who the _fuck_ could you go to if Tasha wasn't available?

You almost give up just before she sounds at the other end of the line.

"Hey, you okay?" she asks, concern etching her tone. In the background is the raging noise of the The Water Hole. She probably thought you and Ben decided not to go through with it - at this point, you weren't sure if you'd be more disappointed or _she_ would.

You groan, hands covering your face. "Tasha, I need help." 

"What's up? Are you guys still..." she begins. 

You cut her off. " _Yes, yes_. I'm trying to get ready and I have no idea how to avoid razor burn or whatever."

She can tell you're terrified by the way you interrupt her, your words stringing together so quickly that it was nearly impossible to understand what you were saying. She knew you well enough to know you were probably having the biggest panic attack of your life so she doesn't ask anymore questions. 

"I'll be right there."

* * *

Tasha has the passcode to your room so she waltzes in without buzzing. 

She immediately gets to work, rummaging around your drawers and shelves as you sit in the center of the room, knees brought up to your chest. The towel is now dripping wet from your sopping head of hair, causing you to shiver from the dampness. Once she finds a bottle of oil, she tosses it to you and you manage to catch it as she fetches a jar of lotion, bacta gel, and the razor.

She kneels in front of you, presenting the two items. "Pirum oil stops bumps. Bacta gel avoids rash. And lotion makes it smooth." She sets the items on the ground. "Draw a bath real quick and shave _underneath_ the water."

"Okay..." you say, heading to the tub and turning the knob. When you find her leaving for your bedroom you fearfully shriek, "Where are you going?!"

Tasha yells from the other room. "Do you have a t-shirt of Ben's?!"

"Uh..." you think for a minute, slipping into the water and begin to prep like she said to. "I don't think so."

You hear her groan a little, drawers slamming shut, and the mechanics of your closet doors opening. "What about a.." she stops short and then chuckles manically.

"What?!" you ask, cringing as you begin to shave. What a mess. 

Tasha says cheerfully, "You're such a fuckin' liar!"

Any and all ideas as to what she means swim through your mind. What the _hell_ was she talking about? "I don't... _what_?!" Maybe you did have a t-shirt of his?

"Ah ha!" she jubilantly exclaims. "You're more of a minx as you let on!"

You're becoming annoyed by how she dances around her mysterious finding. You growl, "Shut up and tell me!"

Footsteps quickly sound about the room and she returns with a pair of panties and a bra you'd never seen before in your life. They were brand new too, the security tag hanging limply and the price on it proclaiming a whopping _229_ credits. It was a matching set, emerald green, with the thick straps holding up the cups graced with delicate lace. The panties were high waisted, lacy as well, but velvet and incredibly soft. By the cost alone you knew it was high end, but the fabric was stunning - you knew the difference between cheap and...well...not so cheap. 

Your jaw drops and you almost cut yourself with the blade in your hand. "What the fuck."

Tasha giggles with excitement as you sit still in the water, body paralyzed with something you've never experienced before, and heart thumping violently against your ribcage. Were you having a heart attack? Is this what cardiac arrest feels like? She hands you a piece of parchment paper that's folded neatly with your name written on it by a skilled hand. Parchment. Calligraphy. _Ben_. 

You blush. It creeps on your cheeks before you can even control it. You take a deep, unstable breath and carefully peel open the letter. You bite your lip as you read his message, his handwriting flawless and legible: 

_For when the time is right._

As you stare at the letter, you gulp and pray that Tasha can't see the drool of your pussy beneath the water. You fold the note closed and give it back to her with trembling hands as your way of giving her permission to read it. She does, eyes scanning the simple promise, and raises a hand to cover her mouth in awe. It takes a lot to impress Tasha, so you know that you're not overreacting when she raises her eyebrows and chuckles under her breath. 

She huffs with amusement, shaking her head. "You're gonna get dicked down so good tonight."

You want to interject but you can't. She's right and there's no use in denying it. Your fear has risen to inhumane levels and you imagine sirens going off in your head, your nerves alighting with an all consuming fire. He's about to give you a fucking orgasm and he hasn't even _touched_ you yet. How could you possibly live up to his expectations? His experience was way out of your league and his ability to swoon you by just a handwritten note - something that wasn't ever practiced in society anymore - was overwhelming. He'd taken his time out to pick out this lingerie, to sit down and write you a goddamned letter, and you're, what? Shaving for him?

Tasha urges you with the wave of her hands. "Come on! Hurry up! You _cannot_ keep this man waiting any longer."

So you do. And, strangely enough, you're satisfied with the result. Tasha's hoe-tip had actually worked and you were smooth as baby's bottom. Before she left, she picked out the perfume you "absolutely had to wear", kissed you on the cheek and said, "Tonight is gonna turn you into a slut and I cannot wait!" while walking out the door. 

And then you were alone.

All is silent. Tasha can't hype you up anymore - that was solely up to you now. You stare at the lingerie laid out on the bed in all its exorbitant glory while feeling ridiculously inadequate of putting it on your body. You wanted to wear it - really. But could you pull it off well enough to alight something in Ben? You try to convince yourself you could - that he bought you this with you in mind. He'd never seen you naked before, so how the hell would he know? What if his idea of you was way off? It probably was. Ben's laid with many women, including Rey, who had the kind of body that one saw in Twi'lek porn.

"Don't be a fucking coward," you scold yourself, reaching for the set.

You slip it on carefully to avoid any kind of rip in the seam and it hits you then that Ben had _guessed_ your size and he'd guessed it...perfectly. Had he figured out your measurements just by watching you move? Had he gawked over you enough that he did the math in his head until he was satisfied? Did this mean he was aware of what you may look like underneath your clothes? Surely he had. And you didn't know what to think of that; how Ben's eyes have wandered and studied the way your ass curved or how your breasts filled out your tops.

Oh, gods. He knew your fucking body before laying bared _hands_ on it.

But this swells you with pride. Suddenly, you felt more beautiful than you had in your life, like you were some sort of ethereal being that he worshipped silently. You tug on the bra as quickly as you can without damaging it and, sure enough, your breasts fit perfectly within the cups; no spillage or tightness that caused overflow on your back. The mirror against your wall reflects back at you a woman you didn't recognize because she looked confident. _Satisfied_. Even your skin glowed, all imperfections seemed to have disappeared along with the damage of your hair. It was luscious, full, and rich in color even after drying it on the highest temperature. Your eyes sparkled bright and bushy tailed as you gawk over your own reflection. 

You couldn't wait anymore. You grab your robe (which is literally the most inconspicuous piece of clothing you wore, as it was littered with holes and frayed string) and sprint out into the hangar.

It was there where The Falcon sat alight, glowing with warmth, and waiting impatiently for your arrival. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NEXT CHAPTER IS SMUTTY SMUTTY SMUTTY so please be patient! :-) Love you, guys.

**Author's Note:**

> I know, I know. I've started way too many fics and not finished them or updated them in forever.
> 
> I can't guarantee this fic will break that cycle, but I'm gonna have fun with it all the same. 
> 
> *Obviously, Ben survived on Exegol. He and Rey separated the year before and there's a little tension.*


End file.
